


Interagency (Mulder and Scully Meet the Director)

by pinebluffvariant



Category: The X-Files, Twin Peaks
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinebluffvariant/pseuds/pinebluffvariant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're wanted on a task force."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interagency (Mulder and Scully Meet the Director)

“FIDELITY BRAVERY INTEGRITY”, bragged the slogan on Mulder and Scully’s brand new FBI coffee mugs as they made their way down the hall to AD Skinner’s office. Whatever had happened between them, whatever had happened in the world over the past fifteen years, whatever scars and betrayals and lessons learned had accumulated in their minds and bodies, some things would never change, Mulder said. “You have integrity and bravery,” he had quietly commented as he poured them coffee downstairs, “and I… will always try to be faithful.”

Scully took the coffee from him and power walked over to the elevator. She couldn’t handle an emotional meltdown right now, not at this early hour, not when they were going on assignment.

There was a lot of waving going on in “Today’s FBI”: The security guard held up her hand in greeting as the two of them, easily the oldest people in the elevator, pressed the button for the fourth floor. Skinner’s assistant, busy on what sounded like a conference call, waved them into the foyer, then into the office. When they entered, Skinner acknowledged their presence with a wave of his hand before swiveling his chair to face the window. 

He was on the phone. “Yes, of course, Director. I am in with them right now, as a matter of fact. Yes, ma’am.” He hung up and waved at them again, motioning for them to sit down. 

The deja vu was palpable in the room. 

“Have a seat, Agents. This just came down,” Skinner said absently, leaning back in his ergonomic desk chair, leafing through a multipage memo stamped with the seal of the Drug Enforcement Agency. “You’re wanted on a task force.”

“The DEA?” said Mulder, sitting upright like the best little agent in the whole world. Scully swore she could almost see the glowing embers in his eyes, excitement taking over his nervous system at the sight of a brand new accordion file, prepared just for him.

“Interagency collaboration is a cornerstone of our success.” Skinner traced words on the page in front of him, ignoring Mulder, who turned to look at Scully with that puzzled what have I done now? face she remembered from decades ago. She couldn’t believe they were home. As if in perfect sync, they both sank back into their chairs and adjusted their expressions to serious, professional, highly effective partners. Never had she worn a more comfortable outfit.

Skinner continued. “It’s been… as you can probably understand, it’s been a bit of a challenge finding the right balance of cases for the two of you. You are simultaneously the most seasoned agents we have, and complete rookies. Post-9/11 federal law enforcement is highly concerned with efficiency and the sharing of expertise, Agents. The FBI has recently been involved in several highly successful collaborative efforts spearheaded by directors Comey and Bryson, and we are very proud to cooperate with the Drug Enforcement Agency on solving some of our most persistent domestic and national security issues.”

“But we don’t do drugs, sir,” Scully said without thinking. Mulder’s grin and Skinner’s scowl, both aimed at her, made something fizz inside her.

Skinner stared at her and blinked morosely. “Bath salts.”

“Bath salts,” Mulder parroted back, quite obviously not making the connection. He tightened his tie, a tell, Scully knew, for when he was trying to hide his frustration. Mulder did not enjoy not having the upper hand. She knew that all too well. He’d almost garroted himself once at a hospital fundraiser, fiddling with his tie and chewing miserably on a slice of baguette until she took mercy on him and pulled him away from her boring colleagues and into the convention hall’s bathroom for a moment of long-craved, insane pleasure.

Scully cleared her throat. “The street name bath salts refers to a family of recreational drugs… highly psychoactive, bath salts are known to produce vivid hallucinations and sometimes psychosis.”

Something in Scully clicked into gear. “The cannibal attack in Miami,” Mulder chimed in suddenly, “in which an unprovoked man stripped himself naked on the side of a highway and attempted to eat the face of his victim, couldn’t be conclusively linked to use of bath salts. However, recent findings by the DEA and forensic psychologists do suggest that bath salt use could be responsible for the recent surge in reports of paranormal activity involving… mastication.”

Scully nodded. “Werewolves in Michigan, vampires in Maine.”

“And my personal favorite,” Mulder added, “flesh eating mermaids seen by drunk Marines off the coast of Corpus Christi in the height of the Gulf summer in 2014.”

Scully detected something in Skinner’s neutral facial expression - a hint of a smile. Mulder’s muscles hummed next to her, and she lapped up every drop of energy in the room at that moment. She sipped her coffee and tried to hide her ghost of a grin behind the rim of her cup. Mulder plopped back into his seat and exhaled.

“So you understand why your expertise would be an asset to this task force,” Skinner continued as if the three of them hadn’t just experienced something powerful. His phone rang, and he picked up the receiver without taking his eyes off the memo in front of him. “Yes. Yes, the door is open.”

He stood suddenly and turned to the door, which opened. “Director,” Skinner said eagerly and almost leapt to greet his visitor. Scully shot up, smoothing her skirt, and looked over at Mulder who was only a second behind her, untangling his long legs from where he’d crossed them at the ankle underneath his seat. They exchanged a quick glance: They’d so rarely been in a room together these past few years, a room that wasn’t at one of their apartments, a room where they were not their private selves, frayed at the edges and emotionally strung out. Their suits were like Kevlar.

“AD Skinner,” Skinner’s visitor said, her voice clear and commanding. Scully had seen the Director on television a few times, dozing off in front of the news in the staff room at Our Lady of Sorrows, but she didn’t realize she was quite so… tall. In heels, she met Skinner’s eyes straight on, towering even over Mulder. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, ma’am,” Skinner said to the woman at the door as they exchanged a firm handshake. “Director Denise Bryson of the Drug Enforcement Agency, these are Special Agents Dana Scully,” he motioned to Scully, and shifted his hand upward about a foot, “and Fox Mulder. They will be joining the interagency effort.”

If Scully was truly honest about it, there was something about Director Bryson that unnerved her. The woman’s piercing gaze, her deep set eyes and strong jaw, all reminded her of someone. She looked… persuasive, intense. Her powerful and strangely elegant stance suggested a physical comfort and contentment you rarely saw in women. Bryson smiled at Skinner and nodded. Scully’s breath hitched.

The Director took a few long strides toward where Mulder and Scully were standing, like kids lined up for team selection in gym class, and held out her hand. “Agent Scully,” she said with something like appreciation in her voice and turned to shake Mulder’s hand as well, “Agent Mulder.”

Mulder’s face showed no trace of surprise, but Director Bryson’s eyes widened, then narrowed in an expression Scully knew all too well. Recognition.

Suddenly, Scully got it. Mulder was shaking his superior’s hand with his usual energy, and she mirrored it completely. Where his hair was short but not quite conservative enough for a senior agent, hers was long and swept up in a chignon, not quite severe enough for an agency head. Beneath her discreetly sooty lashes and perfected eyebrow arch, the Director’s hazel eyes shone with an intensity matched by those of Scully’s partner. They both leaned into the handshake minutely, a gesture Scully recognized as being uniquely Mulder. He was always in people’s space. How could it be that… Did Mulder see it too? 

“I look forward to working with you both, agents.” Director Bryson smiled warmly at them, and then at AD Skinner. “I remember, a long time ago, reading your joint paper on witness flashbulb memory and homicide through hallucinogen-fueled botched vampire roleplay. Exceptional work.”

Mulder chuckled, bashful, and caught Scully’s eyes with his. She remembered typing on her ancient IBM, Mulder fetching her pizza and hovering behind her, annoying her with his bullshit about whether to put scare quotes around “supernatural” - _it reads like you’re mocking these people’s actual experience, Scully!_ She reminded him that she was the lead author on that paper.

Skinner cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse us, Agents, the Director has about twenty minutes and we have a lot to go over. You’ll be briefed in Springfield soon.” 

“Of course, sir,” Scully said, picking up her briefcase and heading straight for the door. Mulder simply nodded and followed her.

“Agents,” the Director called after them. They did it again, turning to face her in complete sync. There must have been something in that coffee. “Welcome aboard,” she said and gave them both a toothy grin entirely incongruous with the status of her position. Then she turned to Skinner and Scully could almost feel the two of them lock into place: federal government business was now being conducted.

Mulder’s hand landed on the small of her back as they stepped out of Skinner’s office. Once they were through the door, out of the foyer, and on their way back to the elevator, Mulder leaned in subtly from a half step behind her and hissed, “Scully.”

“I know,” she echoed. 

He sped them up to catch the elevator. “Oh my God.”

“I know,” she breathed again. 

They stood side by side as the elevator doors closed. Mulder pressed LL for the Lower Lower level. Scully glanced up at him right as he cast his gaze down at her. He was wearing his panic face, eyes begging her to understand and not take it too far.

“A coincidence,” he mumbled and shut his eyes.

A wave of mirth rippled through Scully’s body at the sight of her once-again partner so discombobulated. “Oh, I don’t know, Mulder, we’ve seen this before, maybe it’s clo-”

“Don’t,” he cut her off. “Don’t say it.”

Scully cackled as the elevator dinged, announcing that they had, literally, hit bottom.

Mulder was already three steps ahead of her, speed walking like an Olympian back to the safety of their little hideout, their little den of curiosities, spruced up with a few fresh coats of paint, but oozing their history, their tears, their blessed and cursed and fantastical lives.

“She’s beautiful!” Scully called after him.

Mulder threw his hands up. “Whatever!”

Scully’s laughter rang through the darkened hallway. She caught up with Mulder who was fumbling with his key at the door where two name plates now hung: Dana Scully. Fox Mulder. Special Agents.

She stepped up right behind him and fought the urge to wrap her arms around his unsettled, nervous frame, and soothe it all away. He jiggled the handle and opened the door, rushing over to boot up the computer on his desk. Scully remained in the door frame, regarding the dim, orderly office. Her chest tightened. Here they were, humbled and tidy, but always, always experiencing something new and strange. 

“Let’s get started,” Mulder said in his steely Agent voice, “on all reports of bath salts and other substances involved in any non-human, non-animal attacks, hallucinations, visions, or visitations by apparitions in the lower 48 since the year 2001.”

 _I missed you,_ Scully thought. _Welcome home._


End file.
